The rifle was raised, the hammer reset, the butt lowered to the ground, while Belllounds, snarling and choking, fought for speech.
"I'll get even--with you," he said, huskily.

"I'm on to your game now.
I'll fix you later.

But--I'll do you harm now if you mix in with this!" Then he wheeled to Columbine, and as if he had just recognized her, a change that was pitiful and shocking convulsed his face.

He leaned toward her, pointing with shaking, accusing hand.
"I saw you--up there.

I watched--you," he panted.
Columbine faced him, white and mute.
"It was you--wasn't it ?" he yelled.
"Yes, of course it was." She might have struck him, for the way he flinched.
"What was that--a trick--a game--a play all fixed up for my benefit ?" "I don't understand you," she replied.
"Bah! You--you white-faced cat!...